


Conversations with Dead People : Five Things that Never Happened to Jason Todd

by SharpestRose



Series: Conversations with Dead People [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), The Sandman, Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: AU, Gen, five things that never happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-29
Updated: 2011-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-20 20:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharpestRose/pseuds/SharpestRose





	1. Chapter 1

 

  
  
  
  
  
  


  
 **ONE**

Jason's never wanted to be a crook, not like the boys in this school are gonna be. He just does what he has to, and so he's nearly out the window before he realises something. The Batman. The Batman put him here, and the Batman's no idiot. He must've known what this place was. What was it that he'd said to Jason? _Learn something._ He's trusting Jason to bring this racket down.

Jason doesn't climb out the window.

-

Six months later Jason knows what kinda guns it's easiest to get on Crime Alley and where to get them, seven different techniques for ripping off department stores without tripping alarms, and (this, he had to teach himself) how to look like he's drinking as much as those around him without having more than a mouthful. He's also aided in way more heists than he wants to think about, but that's the price he pays. Robin Hood had to learn how to rob the rich before he gave to the poor.

When Benny gets shot knocking over a liquor store, Jason decides he's learned enough. Benny's okay, in a big dumb way. Ma Gunn's grooming him to be one of those mob henchmen types. Jason, she's grooming into just what he's made everyone think he's gonna be: a two-bit hoodlum. Kids like Jason are the ones who go down on easy jobs, not kids like Benny.

Jason and the other guys rush him to a clinic and try to help him, but all the doctor can really do is dope him up so he doesn't feel more pain.

Jason knows it's time to get rid of school when he sees the doctor's grim, sad, accepting face. Jason isn't ever gonna let any kid die like Benny again, with some old lady looking down like hey, shit happens, these kids are doomed and that's that. It isn't going to happen again if Jason can possibly help it.

He can't call in the cops, because every boy at the school has done enough to get them sent down a dozen times over. Jason isn't gonna land himself in juvie just to see Ma Gunn get hers.

He weighs his options. Explores the gross-smelling brownstone where they all live from top to bottom and memorises all the sleeping-places and exits. Steals enough of Ma Gunn's papers to know where the money is and where it could be if he moves fast.

It all happens in one night, because Jason knows he won't have a chance to get it all done with any more time than that for things to go wrong in. Some rags, some gasoline, and his lighter, and the house is full of deadly-looking but relatively controlled flames. First step done with. Second step is to get all the kids out, every last one of them. Jason's picked out the three guys he thinks are the most reliable and puts them in charge of seeing that everyone's okay.

Then he goes back inside and finds Ma Gunn just where he expected her, bent over that steamer trunk full of big glittery jewels and chunks of gold and silver. Jason knocks her out with a whack to the back of her head, fills his pockets with the most expensive-looking stuff, and drags her out the back door.

He dumps her outside the police station with a letter pinned to her dress listing all the stuff she's done. He's put Benny's death at the top of the page.

Jason hasn't really thought as much about the next step. There are enough condemned buildings around that a place to sleep isn't a problem, but some of the kids from the school are still way too young to look after themselves.

Jason tells his three chosen helpers to make sure nobody's hurt or hungry, and keep them all together on their way to finding a place for the night. Nobody notices that Ma Gunn's not around, and nobody sleeps much after the excitement of the fire. Jason paces, and tries to decide what the best thing to do is.

Then he remembers Millie, who sometimes helped him with his Mom when things were really bad. Millie's just another odd-jobber now, but Jason remembers her saying once that she used to help out with her husband's eighth-grade class back before he died. She'd have more of an idea what to do than Jason does.

He reaches the room she rents just as daylight starts to clean the Alley up a bit. Millie's got a problem with junk, same as Jason's Mom did, but seemed alert enough when she answers the door.

She greets him, obviously pleased that he hasn't gotten himself dead or missing. He tells her as much about what's going on as he feels he can, and begs for her to help him. Jason hates begging, but he'll do it when he has to.

She's reluctant, and Jason can feel the weight of the loot in his pocket. He won't buy her help, because if he had to pay then it wouldn't be worth anything.

 _I'll look after you, too. Like I'm looking after the kids,_ Jason says. _Lemme look after you like I didn't know how to look after Mom._ Like I didn't know how to look after Benny, he adds silently to himself.

Something sad and tired and bright flares in Millie's eyes when Jason says that, and after a second he realises that it might just be hope. Jason's never made anybody hopeful before. He likes how it feels.

-

The notebooks and pencils are cheap enough, and Millie's still got a bunch of her husband's old textbooks. For the first couple of days the kids are confused by lessons about real school stuff, but Jason buys them better food than Ma Gunn did and so they're willing to do what he tells them.

Jason tries to pay attention too, but can't concentrate, can't sit still for long enough. With Millie and some helpers keeping things running, Jason starts sleeping late and going out at night. Pimps and Johns learn quickly that roughing their girls up will earn them a couple of hits from a tire iron or half a brick. The women try to give Jason money, out of gratitude and a hope for continued protection, but he doesn't take it. Ma Gunn's savings are weighty enough that Jason's got no fear of poverty for himself or those he looks after.

Sometimes the women and girls and boys try to thank Jason other ways, but he turns them down too. He wants to look after them, not earn favours.

When he goes to bed, Jason pretends to be talking to Benny. They were never all that close, and Jason can't really remember what he was like all that clearly, but it's better than pretending to talk to himself. He just says random stuff, about his day and what kind of soda he wants a bottle of and how he never knew kids grew out of clothes so fast.

He learns the rhythm and hierarchies of the street better than ever before. The crime and the hooking's as bad as it is because there's no other way for people to earn the cash they need to survive. On Jason's fifteenth birthday he uses most of the assets he took from Ma Gunn to buy the old shoe factory on the corner of Wilson and Dunleavy streets. It's a gamble, but he trusts his gut.

A couple of weeks later he's out walking, trying to forget all the stuff he's got to worry about (some of the kids have chicken pox, there's a new gun supplier working the area, winter's coming and there's too many people with nowhere warm to go). It's one of those weird twists of fate that makes him run into a lady who knew his family before things went bad. She's got a box of their stuff at her apartment, photos and papers and things and Jason doesn't know whether to laugh or cry at the gift.

He takes it back to the building where he's still staying and unpacks each treasure in turn. He remembers the day they got their portrait taken, the way his Dad complained about his itchy suit. Jason's old report cards all say he doesn't play well with others. A couple of letters from an aunt who died long ago, and then Jason finds his birth certificate.

Once the initial shock of seeing that the water-blurred name on the 'mother' line is not Catherine Todd has worn off, Jason lets himself slip into planning mode. Public records are easy enough to obtain, and he's got enough diamond rings left over from Ma Gunn to get a few extra favours.

It's not about having a Mom. Not really. Jason feels too old by half to need parents anymore. It's a mystery, a distraction. A link between him and a world outside his responsibilities. It's also almost like how he still sometimes talks to Benny in his head. Something that he needs and isn't sure why.

It's not long before he gets the answers to his questions. Sheila Haywood left the country after a back-alley abortion on a teenage girl went wrong and ended with the patient dead. Currently, Sheila's working with famine relief efforts in Africa.

Jason sits and looks at the words and blinks and breathes. It feels like a betrayal of Catherine, the woman he still thinks of as 'Mom' in his head, for him to be so proud of this other person he doesn't even know. She's doing what she can to fix the world, and doesn't stop even when the going gets shitty.

He writes her a short note, unsure if she's be happy to know that he knows about her past. Just _Hi, my name's Jason Todd, I'd really like to hear back from you, here's a photo of me now._

A month goes by. Two, three. The factory's doing okay but more importantly the streets are little safer. With legitimate jobs and steady incomes, people are getting on track. Underworld guys have started propositioning Jason with business partnerships and threats disguised as bribes. He's not scared of them. He still goes out at night, but most of the locals know better than to get on his bad side by now.

One day there's a letter for him at the post office. _Jason, my god, it's such a surprise (a happy surprise, I assure you!) to get a letter from you. You look the spitting image of my father. I wish I still had a photograph of him at your age so I could prove it. He was a police officer. Your grandmother was a legal secretary. They died when I was very young, and I would never wish such heartache on anyone else. I suspect that this is why I never fought to keep you - I fear I lack the maternal instincts all children deserve. I am sorry for any hurt I caused you, Jason. Perhaps some day we can meet one another. S.H._

Jason keeps meaning to write back, but there's always something else that needs doing and he never gets around to it. It's almost a year after the fact before he hears of her death, and another three months more before his sources tell him that she was skimming a sizeable amount from the budget of the relief aid. Jason hates that he'll never be able to ask her why, but has no doubt that she had a good reason. He couldn't be doing all that he is without the dirty money he started off with, after all. People have all kinds of reasons for things.

-

The school gets a real building and real books and an actual dormitory with heat and running water. The shoe factory's doing well enough that Jason branches out into his first love, cars, and opens three garages. Things are under control.

He starts dating a girl who works at the burger place near the largest of the garages. Stephanie's tough without being nasty and hot without being stuck-up. She's got a kid, and from the way she talks about her son Jason can tell that she'd do anything for him. Jason likes her a lot.

On Jason's 18th birthday, he stakes out on a rooftop so he can keep his eye on all the major hotspots that dealers frequent. There's a new and highly dangerous drug on the scene and he'll be damned if he's going to let any scumbag sell it on his turf.

It's a mild night and there's not much going on, but Jason sticks around anyway. It's shortly before dawn when he hears footsteps behind him.

 _Those responsible have been dealt with_ , the Batman says.

 _Good_ , answers Jason. _It's not right, you know? People are just trying to keep it together. Giving them a temptation like that's just shitty._ He pauses, runs his hand through his hair, and sighs. It's been a long night. _We met once. You probably don't remember._

 _Yes, I do._ It's vaguely creepy to see the stony face break into a slight smile. _You're a hard one to forget, Jason._

Jason laughs at that.

 _You do good work here,_ the Batman tells him.

 _Yeah_. Jason nods. _I do._

 **TWO**

"I knew I'd find you, eventually."

"I've been following you for a long time," she answers him. "I was never sure if it was really me you were after."

"Mmm." He nods, sighs despite a lack of need for the action. Then, as if he has given her words consideration, "Is that true? I mean, don't you know everything?"

"Eventually," she echoes, in the same flat tone as he gave to the word.

Everything is flat now, muted and grey like river-water. Everything but the bright colours of cape and tunic around him. But that was always the way.

"Yes," she says now, as if she has heard him speak aloud.

"Did it hurt?" he asks, blurting the words and afraid of getting an answer.

"Do you remember it hurting?"

"Not properly. It's like when a nightmare fades, once you wake up."

"Yes."

"I didn't want to die," Jason says, as angrily as he can manage. "I wasn't looking for you."

She doesn't reply. She is leading him somewhere, and he follows because there seems nothing else to do instead. Their footsteps make no sound. Her hair is black like the words _oblivion_ and _nothing_ and _gone_ are black, and he shivers in the primary armour of his uniform.

"So, what, that's it, is it?" He quickens his pace to catch up with her stride. She's the only constant left to him, after all. Perhaps she's right, and it's been that way for a while.

"Did you expect something more?" And now she stops and turns, and Jason nearly crashes into her, and she smiles and steadies him with slim, pale hands. She's no taller than he is, and her gaze is all he could have wished for from a mother's eye.

"Well, yeah. No. Kinda," mutters Jason with an uncomfortable, tongue-tied shift from foot to foot. "It feels so lame, to be... the dead sidekick. Like I'm the frumpy chick, who's a bridesmaid at all the weddings and never gets hitched herself. Poor Cock Robin, like in the song."

"Robin didn't die."

"Uh." Jason gestures at the hazy blankness surrounding them. He doesn't know how to answer her. People are always saying that Death's unfair, but he's never heard it said that she's completely out of her freakin' mind.

"Usually, it's life that people say is unfair. Though there's hardly a difference, from the wider perspective," she says softly, and her smile somehow manages to look sad and jubilant all at once.

"Guess my perspective's kind of narrow, then," Jason retorts. "What do you mean, anyway, 'Robin didn't die'?"

"Jason Todd did."

"Oh, great," Jason mutters. "Head games. Is this some mythic hero shit about how a function is more than the person inside it?"

"Something like that," she admits, and pats his shoulder. "It's not so bad. You were part of a big, important thing, Jason. You have much to be proud of."

"Yeah, and I've also got a past tense and a bloodied corpse, so forgive me if I don't break out the champagne." That's not a quip he'd make, under ordinary circumstances, and Jason can't help but wonder if his brain's becoming part of that collective unconscious thing or something now. All the edges of his mind feel like they're blurring and dimming.

"You're forgiven," she tells him cheerfully, and then grabs him and hugs him tight. She's holding him like she never wants to let him go, and it's like having a sister and a mother and a girlfriend and all the rest all at once. Jason can smell something kinda like cafes in the early morning, toast and butter and coffee. He can hear a sound, like a bird's wings beating against the air, and even as he hates that this is the last thought he's gonna have it seems weirdly fitting. A big, important thing.

His vision flares to red, fades to the colours of her hair, and there is quiet.

 **THREE**

The first snap, he doesn't really notice. The girls' moms have barely left earshot, so the world doesn't feel all that big or looming or mysterious beyond the circle of light from the campfire. There're all kinds of animals out doing late-night animal things and making little noises in the woods; Kon doesn't think much about the second small sound either.

Still, it must've made some impression on him, because the third one makes him sit up straighter and listen more closely to the night. He hopes it's more hunters. Or an evil robot hell-bent on destroying the world. He could do with one of them showing up. Of course, an evil robot probably wouldn't bother skulking around in the dark.

Kon considers giving the area a once-over anyway. Just so he's got something to do that's not watching the flicker of the fire against the trees around the clearing.

Another twig-snap sound, and then Robin comes out of the tent, holding up a hand before Kon can say anything.

"It's over to the left," Robin whispers, coming over to crouch beside him. "And it's circling. Probably human, or humanoid at least. Two-legged gait."

"You really were trained by the world's gre-" Kon starts to say before being cut off with a hiss from Robin. "Okay, I'm being quiet. Want to go check it out? I'm more than ready to take down some nasties right now."

"Stay here, keep watch on the others. I'll go," orders Robin, pulling his staff out. His jaw's doing that clenchy grim thing.

"Don't freak out. I bet it's a deer or a squirrel. Something little and furry and harmless."

Robin's probably glaring at him under the mask. "Stay here, okay?"

"Aye aye." Kon sighs, settling back down. "Hope it's a bat," he mutters to the dying remnants of the fire. "Even Rob'd have to find _that_ funny."

-

Tim's eyes feel all gross and gritty, because he can't rub the sleep out of them without putting the lenses of the mask up, and right now he's gotta finish the infra-red sweep over the area. He's sure that there's something up ahead now, because the air is too still, the woods all around are too quiet. Nothing's showing up.

A rustle above. Movement, but still no temperature change recorded by the infra-red.

Tim forces himself to stand at what looks vaguely like ease and speak at an ordinary conversational volume. "Show yourself."

A rush of air as a figure jumps down from the branches of the tree on Tim's left, landing with a soft thump and blending in with the surroundings. Tim's gotten too used to the inner-city version of night, and the quality of the shadows out here isn't nearly so familiar as he'd like.

"I'm impressed. The two masks, that's a level of anal I didn't credit even you with."

Tim allows a moment of cool relief at the sound of the voice, then snorts and retracts his staff. Crossing his arms over his chest under the cape, he keeps his own tone light in reply. "You're lying."

"Yeah." The darkness moves in a way that suggests a shrug. "But still. Good to know you haven't lost your touch in your old age."

"I didn't know you were -" Tim doesn't act on the urge to rub at the corner of his jaw below his ear, a tic he thought he'd long discarded. "It's been a while. I assumed you were still in Japan."

"I'm not stupid. The only reason he hasn't cancelled those cards is to keep tabs on me. I don't use them for anything that'd let you guys know where I actually was."

"That's not true. About the cards," says Tim, even though it's not wrong either. "He feels responsible for you."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'guilty', Robin."

"So you aren't in Japan."

"Obviously."

"What have you been doing, then?"

"Stuff." A snigger. "Watching you nearly wet yourself at the sound of a couple of twigs snapping."

Tim lets himself laugh. "There was never a chance of me wetting myself."

"You just keep telling yourself that."

"I will." Tim's smile fades into mild amusement. "Well, come on then."

"Huh?"

"There's no way I'm letting Superboy rag on me for being jumpy when there really was something lurking. You're coming back with me to the camp."

Tim raises the lenses for long enough to rub his eyes on the walk back to the clearing, and smothers a yawn behind his hand. There's probably no chance he'll get back to bed before daybreak.

"You sleeping okay?"

"Well enough." And if they were different people, Tim would add a sarcastic ' _mom_ ' onto the end of that.

Superboy's still sitting by the fire. Tim's tempted to classify his expression as brooding, but it clears and turns back into a smile as Tim comes closer.

"Was it a squirrel?" Superboy asks Tim, then looks surprised as he realises that Robin's not alone.

"Nope," Tim says with a trace of smugness. "Told you it wasn't."

"Some random kid was hanging out in the woods?"

"No, this is..." Tim glances behind him.

"Domino," comes the reply.

"Friend of yours, Rob?"

Tim raises one shoulder in a small half-shrug. "We've met before."

"Like your costume," Domino says to Superboy, giving him a slow look of appraisal. Tim rolls his eyes behind the lenses as Superboy comes over to hover a few feet away from the two of them, grinning at the compliment. It's easier for Tim to see properly here, by the light of the campfire, and he gives Domino's own costume a look up and down. Black boots, black tights, long black sleeves ending in gloves, a many-pocketed vest (black), and a mask to match the name. His face is all gold-grey and shadowed and smirking in the uneven light.

"Are you an urban legend too? Does it ever bug you guys that you don't get endorsement deals?" Superboy asks.

"It doesn't bug me. No crazed fans, this way."

"Hey, man, crazed fans are _cool_. They throw underwear, sometimes."

"And sometimes they invent death rays. I'll pass."

"Hey, you gotta take the bad with the good," Superboy answers.

Domino is smiling. Superboy is smiling back. Tim wishes he was still asleep.

-

"I know you know I'm here."

"So come down. You're stealing my lurking schtick," Robin says.

Domino drops from the narrow sill of the higher building beside the Woodford Apartments block, landing in a crouch next to Robin. "What're we doing?"

"There's a guy selling pirate dvds by mail order from this address."

"Wow. You're really doing your bit against the important breaches of justice in the world."

"Your sarcasm is harmless against my powers of not listening," Robin replies. "How could you tell that I knew you were there?"

"You rub that scar on your jaw. Nervous tics are never a good idea when you've got a secret identity, they're too easily recognisable."

"Did you have fun on the weekend?"

"Yeah," Domino answers. "You've got a good bunch there. Secret guessed about me after, like, two seconds."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. She made a crack about how I don't drink... soda."

"Secret made a pop culture reference? As a joke? That's -" Robin shakes his head with another little grin. "Anyway, were you okay with that?"

"A pop culture reference?"

"Your sense of humour is even deader than you are."

Domino has to cover his own mouth with one dark-gloved hand to muffle a howl of laughter. "The olds are right, you YJ guys are a bad influence on each other. He'd be seriously pissed if he heard you say that."

"You're laughing, and I'd say you're the one I should worry about offending."

"Yeah, well, if you can't laugh, what've you got left?"

Robin hums agreement, and then says, "The reason I asked about whether you had fun or not is that I think you should seriously consider making it a regular thing."

"Aw, c'mon, don't."

"Why not?"

"Because I'll say no, and you'll be all pretending that you're not angry that I turned it down, and whenever I run into your team it'll make me feel uncomfortable."

"I'm not asking you to be a full member." Robin rubs his thumb against the scar on his jaw, then pauses and drops his hand with a snort. "I don't know if I would want that, even if you did. But you should keep up contact. A visit every two months, maybe. It's in your best interests in the long term, for the same reasons I'm glad Superboy's on the team. You're both young now, and so are we. If we get used to you, and learn to respect your suitability and skill, then it'll make life much easier for you in twenty years. By then, some of us'll be in the JLA, and won't it be better if the olds, as you called them, are a bunch of people who don't even think twice about the fact you'll still look fifteen?"

"Jesus, dude, please tell me that you haven't put serious thought into this. You're hanging with your buds and you don't want me to be a loner psycho, does it need to be deeper than that? I bet you haven't tried this line on Superboy."

"He doesn't think like we do."

"'We'? Huntress crosses herself whenever she thinks I might be around. Nightwing and Oracle get really quiet, and the big guy... there's no 'we', especially not that includes me."

"If you'd just _talk_ to him -"

"He'd like to pretend I'm just a suit in a jar. Forget it."

They lapse into silence, Domino drumming his fingers against his knee.

"I hate stakeouts."

"I did notice that, oddly enough."

"Once every two months, you think?"

"Mm-hmm." Robin gives a nod.

"They'll find out."

"They're cool. They don't mind Secret, and she's much stranger than you. It'll be okay."

"No, I didn't mean that. I meant, you know, the Bats. I'm sure they know I'm back in town. You really want them knowing I'm being a bad influence on baby brother's playgroup, too?"

"I'm not that much younger than you."

"That's not the point I was making."

"I wouldn't be here without you." This time, when Robin runs his thumb against the scar, it's deliberate. "Nightwing and I could've talked 'til we were blue in the face, but who knows if Batman would've relented in the end?"

"What did you say to him?"

"Stuff about how when police officers get killed others take their place, because the need for justice doesn't stop. I don't remember the exact words. I babbled a bit."

"Lemme guess. He was doing that no-reply thing that just makes you wanna fill the quiet up with as much talking as you can."

"I didn't give him the chance to reply, to tell the truth. I played the only card I had left in my deck; I said you'd told me that Robin needed to go on."

Domino gives a low whistle. "Never pegged you as a gambling man. Risky."

"No, I think he - they. Nightwing too. They needed to know I had your approval. You guys were all still so messed up over what'd happened."

"As opposed to now?"

"You're none of you the same people. We move on. Still, I do think you need to talk."

"Never been our style." Domino taps Robin on the arm. "Looks like we've got something happening. Let's go."

Two whirs, two thuds, two blurs of movement swinging into the dark.

-

Three Saturday nights later, when Domino drops in for a visit, there's less than nothing going on. The girls are off having secret incomprehensible girl fun, possibly involving a boy band concert. Robin and Superboy are reading - a newspaper for Robin, a magazine for Superboy - and so Domino settles in to watch Bart play 'Evil Mutant Monkey Madness 12' on the playstation.

"Hey, do you wanna come out with us tomorrow? Maybe something cool will happen and we'll have to defeat evil."

"I can't. Next time you've got something going on after hours, though, count me in. Thanks for the offer."

Bart hits the pause button on his controlpad. Domino's casual voice sounds almost exactly like Robin's. Bart knows that he's not exactly known as the most observant of the team, but it would be hard to miss the tension Domino's suddenly giving off.

"Seriously, you can if you like. You're welcome to. Even though you're a night-time hero guy, like Robin. He does stuff in the day with us."

"Impulse," Robin says, folding up his newspaper. "Domino's allergic to sunlight."

"Really? Whoa. You mean you're kinda like a vampire?"

Domino gives Robin a look that Bart can't read, and doesn't say anything. Robin clears his throat and rubs at the point where neck and jaw meet under his ear.

"More like 'exactly' than 'kinda'," says Robin.

"Oh." Bart cocks his head to one side. "Do you have a gypsy curse? Because on tv, the good vampires have gypsy curses sometimes." He puts the playstation controls down, game forgotten. "Do you drink blood? Sleep in a coffin? Are you gonna live forever? Will you ever get any older than you are? How long have you -"

"Bart," Robin says. Bart shuts up for a few seconds, then thinks of something else.

"Did you bite Robin? Is that why he keeps touching that scar when he talks to you? Is it a sex thing or a food thing, or are they the same thing for you? Does metahuman blood taste different? What about alien blood?"

"I told you that someone'd notice the scar thing," Domino says to Robin with a smirk before turning back to Bart. "No, I don't have a gypsy curse, or sleep in a coffin."

"And he didn't bite me," Robin puts in, two spots of colour appearing on his cheeks below the mask.

"I don't bite anybody. There are suppliers for people like me."

"Really? Is it a big conspiracy? A good conspiracy, because it means you're not biting people."

"Uh, I guess?" Domino looks kinda overwhelmed, and also like he really wants to start laughing.

"So how'd you become a vampire? What happened? Are you a hundred years old?"

"That's enough questions for now, I think," Robin says in what Bart can't help but think of as a teacher voice.

Superboy looks like he's thinking hard about something, but doesn't say anything. After a moment, Bart shrugs and goes back to his game. "I know a vampire. That's _cool_ ," he says before focussing on the evil mutant monkeys.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Bart hears Superboy ask Domino.

"Sure." The two of them go somewhere out of earshot. Bart mashes the punch button on the controller, doing his best to save the world from evil ape invaders. Bright red pixels cover the screen in an explosion.

Putting the control pad down, Bart turns. Robin's standing in the same place he was five minutes ago, looking in the direction where the others walked off. Sometimes Bart wonders how Robin can stand to be so _still_. The only part of him that's moving at all is the muscle in his jaw.

-

"So. Now they know."

"Now they know," Tim echoes.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

Domino snorts. "Usually, your lies are more convincing than that."

"Really. It's nothing."

"If you say so."

"I do."

"Just thought I should give you this." Domino hands Tim a small piece of paper with a phone number scrawled across it. "My cell. Don't let... well, you know. Gimme a call whenever."

"All right." Tim nods. Then, letting out his breath, he relaxes slightly. "Don't be a stranger."

"Same back atcha, Robin."

It's two months, one week before there's reason for Tim to call the number.

-

"Hey. You can tell me to rack off, I won't take it personally."

Cissie sighs, and turns the tv off with the remote. "No, it's all right. Come in. I should've known you guys wouldn't drop it."

"Robin said you quit." Domino sits down, relaxed as if he climbs in windows every night. Possibly, that's because he does. Cissie has no idea what he usually spends his time doing.

She looks up from staring at the pattern of the couch's armrest. Her eyes are puffy and pinked. "He say why?"

He gives her a curt nod. "Yeah."

It takes Cissie a few seconds to realise that he's wearing ordinary black jeans and a black sweater, instead of the usual costume. The street clothes make it slightly weirder that he's still got his mask on, but their standards of weird aren't really all that much like other people's.

"So, what?" she says after a while of quiet. "You here to tell me I'm wrong? To go back? To go freelance, like you?"

"I'm not here to tell you anything. I figured you might wanna talk."

"I can't be Arrowette again."

"Yeah, you're right. You can't."

Cissie winces. She knew it was true, but it's still terrible to hear said so surely.

"A few years back, I... Christ, Robin's a weird guy, isn't he? I can't believe he decided I was the guy who should talk to you, considering. See, a few years ago -" Domino pauses. His hands are clenched and white-knuckled on his knees. "My partner at the time wasn't so fast in finding me as Superboy was in finding you."

For a minute, Cissie doesn't say anything. She shuts her eyes tight, hugging her arms and rocking back and forth a little.

"I think I'm going to be sick." Her voice sounds dull with the horror. Then, timidly, barely above a whisper, "Did it help? I can still hear her still hear her screaming in my head, and -" Cissie gulps. "It's louder than the rest. It's louder than the guilt. I think I could deal with the guilt if she would be quiet."

"She won't ever be."

Cissie doesn't want to cry in front of Domino. She doesn't know him even as well as she knows the regular team, and hates that he'll think she's a weak little kid. But she can't help it. The sobs come, making her stomach muscles hurt and her throat feel raw. She can hardly breathe for the choke.

"My hands don't feel like my own hands anymore. My skin's not my skin. I just want to -" Running out of words, she buries her face in her hands. Domino's there beside her in a moment, holding her tight enough that she feels safe enough to let go a little more and scream against his shoulder.

"I've got you," Domino promises. "I've got you."

When she can't cry anymore, can't breathe enough for screaming, Cissie sits back. Domino's shirt is all snotty and gross, but he doesn't comment as he wipes at it with the tissue she offers.

"Sorry. I didn't know I was gonna do that," she says, blushing a little.

"Don't worry about it. Look, you're lucky, you've got time to stop and decide what you wanna do now. Don't think you've gotta make a decision right away, and don't let anyone else push you about it. When I - when it happened to me, I didn't have a chance, not until a bunch of other bad stuff happened too. By the time I did slow down and think about everything, I didn't have a choice anymore about being who I'd been. I had to start again.

"I get why you can't be Arrowette anymore. Heroes aren't allowed to fail, they don't get second tries. Kids learn that two-wrongs-don't-make-a-right stuff in daycare, what good's a hero who can't understand that?" Domino pauses, and takes one of Cissie's hands between his own. He's not wearing gloves, and his skin's calloused and careful. "But you're not just Arrowette, just a symbol. You're Cissie, you're a person, and people always have another chance. You'll find someone new to be. Someone great."

Cissie draws in a shuddering breath. "So what about you? How come you're still doing this? How can you trust yourself?"

Domino shrugs. "Got nothing else, I guess."

-

"Did you go see her?"

"Yeah. It's a good thing I went over when I did, she was watching that reality tv garbage. I saved her from a fate worse than death."

"Not a fan?" Robin asks.

"Contests where the outcome's decided by a bunch of mouth-breathers dialling one-nine-hundred numbers? No thanks."

"So how is she?"

"Okay I guess. Or she will be, at least. So how've you been?"

"All right. You?"

"Yeah, I've been good." Domino pauses, and smiles a little. "Me and Superboy talk a lot. Online and stuff. He's pretty cool."

Robin's jaw clenches. "Hmm?"

Suddenly, Domino laughs. "Dude. Oh, Robin, dude, you are such a crackup. Just..." he pauses, and pretends to wipe tears of mirth from his eyes. The effect is spoiled somewhat by the mask. "I'm gonna make you a deal, okay? If you'll just talk, really talk, to him, I'll... geez. I'll talk to Batman. Actual talking, not shouting."

Robin blinks in surprise behind his mask. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, talk to Superboy. Even you should be able to understand an order like that, Boy Clueless."

-

"You're early. I thought I'd be first to get here for sure," Kon says in surprise. Robin's sitting at the table with his fingers steepled against his chin. It makes him look a little like he's plotting something dastardly.

"Domino said I should talk to you."

"Oh." Kon sits down too, a few places down from Robin. "Okay." He thinks for a second. "Um. What about?"

"I don't know. I assumed you would be able to tell me."

Kon shrugs. "No idea."

"Are the pair of you -" Robin looks like he's way out of his depth. The indecision on his face is freaking Kon out. Robin's supposed to be the one who understands stuff, so that Kon can get it explained. "A pair?"

"What?"

"You're slightly similar in many ways, both situational and in your personalities. It wouldn't be surprising if you found an affinity."

"You're talking like a Bat again."

Robin smiles a little. "Sorry."

"You thought me and Domino were... I thought _you_ guys were. You've got secrets that nobody else knows, seems like. Dom says he has a girlfriend, so I figured that it wasn't still a -" Kon shrugs. "But for all I know the Batman gang doesn't think about all that stuff in the same way as norm... as ordin... as other people do, so I didn't wanna say the wrong thing. In case you were still a -"

"A thing?" Robin supplies.

"Yeah."

"He has a girlfriend? I didn't know that."

"Some chick named Natalia. He seems really into her."

"He never told me that. Sneaky bastard."

"Yeah, you're one to talk," Kon points out, pushing his hair back off his forehead and grinning. "So you're not a pair?"

Robin shakes his head. "No. Things are quite complicated enough without that. And you're not, either?"

"Nope. So, _is_ that a bite? Your scar?"

Robin touches the little white mark on his neck. "No. But Domino was the one who gave it to me. The first time I met him."

"You guys have weird ways of getting introduced."

"You assume he's one of the Bats."

"Isn't he?"

"Not exactly. Do you remember when you and Bart and I were down in the Cave, when the adults were missing?"

"Yeah, 'course."

"Do you remember the Robin suit, in the glass case?"

"The one you yelled at Imp to get away from."

"Yes. That was never my suit. It belonged to the Robin before me."

"Are you sure you're allowed to tell me this? Aren't you supposed to not say anything incriminating about who you are?" Kon tries to stop himself sounding pissed about that, even though it bugs him a lot.

"I'm not. I'm trying to tell you as much as I can about the other parts of my life without telling you more than I'm able," Robin explains. "I think that's why it bothered me so much, the idea of the two of you being so close. Sometimes, the only way I can handle everything is to keep every area of my life separate from the others."

"So Domino used to be Robin?"

"Yes. When I was thirteen, I went looking for Batman. There hadn't been a Robin for a while, and Batman was getting sloppy. It scared me. I wanted to fix things."

"No offense, I bet you were a creepy-as-hell kid, Rob."

"Probably," Robin agrees with a nod. "Anyway, I was tracking down an associate of Batman's. I went to his apartment, and suddenly I'm pinned against a wall and this guy's holding a knife to my throat. He'd been following me while I followed Batman. He thought I was a threat. After a bit of a scuffle -" Robin rubs at the scar again. "- we worked out that we were on the same side. We've been, well, friends, since. In a broad definition of the word."

"How come he's not Robin anymore? Is it the vampire thing? How did that happen?"

Robin shakes his head. "That's not my story to tell. I don't even know all of it."

"You know, next time I feel like my life's messed up, I'm just gonna ask you to talk about the people you know for a while. Makes me feel better."

"I'm so glad." Robin's voice is dry, but he's still smiling. Kon smiles back.

-

"So, did you guys talk?" Domino asks, next time he shows up during Tim's patrol.

"Yes. Did you?"

Domino mutters something.

"What was that?"

"Not yet."

"I hope you do. And soon."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Domino keeps pace as they move from block to block. "It still doesn't feel real. Even now. I mean, this one time? We fought a guy who thought bathing in blood would make him live forever. He killed so many people. Tortured Batman. It was horrible. I still get bad dreams about it. And another time, we stopped these guys who were stealing blood from a blood bank. I made tons of wisecracks about vampires during that fight. It's something the villains do, you know? Something the bad guys are. I can't make it all fit together in my head."

"Maybe talking to Batman will sort some of that out."

"Yeah, maybe. I wanna ask him why he had that vial on his belt in the first place. How long he'd had that precaution in place, 'specially considering that he obviously regretted it within the second of deciding to use it." Domino shakes his head, his features shadowed despite the paleness of his skin. "He wants me to hate him, I think. To wish that I was dead. But I can't. I can't say that I think what he did was wrong, because I'm grateful to still be around, even like this."

"These are the things you should be saying to him, Jason. Not to me."

"I don't think I've ever heard you use my name before."

"Do you mind?"

"No." Domino shakes his head. "No, I don't. I guess I should go find him, hey? Say some of this stuff before I chicken out."

"Good luck."

"Thanks. Not just for the good luck, either. For everything. I'm glad we have... whatever it is that we have."

Tim nods. " Same back atcha," he says.

 **FOUR**

"I want to talk to you."

Jason doesn't look away from the television. A talk show host is hugging someone.

"Turn that off."

He turns the volume up.

"Jason, turn the television off and talk to me, or I'm going to shock you with my tazer. Don't think I won't. I've got no patience for this."

"Cry me a river," he says, flicking the channel over to football. "I've got no patience for your pep talks."

"I wish you'd died, too."

Jason looks at Barbara in surprise, and turns the tv off. "What?"

"You said it to hurt him, but I'm saying it because it's true." She wheels herself to beside where he's sitting. "I wish you'd died, Jason."

"Why? I'm hogging all the cripple-pity now?"

There's a tiny flinch deep in her eyes. Jason almost feels like a crummy bastard for causing it.

When Barbara starts talking, her voice is steady. "Because you're hurting everyone who comes near you as much as you possibly can, and I don't take kindly to people who do that. Your self-indulgent misery over the last year has done more damage to Bruce's wellbeing than a lifetime of guilt over his parents did." Her words are cool, almost vicious in their conversational tone. "If it wasn't for Tim, I'd bet that Batman would be gone by now, and you've made the poor kid as miserable as you can at every turn. You hate yourself, you hate everyone around you, and you want them to hate you too. So I wish you were dead, because there isn't a single person in this house who wouldn't be happier."

"You telling me I should off myself, Barbara?"

"I'm telling you that shit happens, Jason. Things would be less difficult if you were dead, and they'd be even better still if we weren't hurt. But we are, and you're alive, so get the hell over it and stop rotting away in front of the television. No wonder you get headaches."

"I get headaches because my brain was severely bruised by a fucking crowbar."

"Yeah, and I got shot. But that doesn't stop people from making off-colour jokes. Deal."

"Will you shut up and just leave me alone?" Jason shouts. Barbara doesn't blink.

"No."

"What the hell difference does it make to you if I'm wasting my time watching tv and feeling sorry for myself?"

"I can't let him win."

"Oh, for crying out -"

"I can't let the Joker destroy us, all of us. Splinter us. I _won't_."

"In case you missed the memo, I'm not one of 'us' anymore. There's a new Robin, and he's already nearly as good as I was on my best days. I've been replaced, so leave me out of your group hug, okay?"

"Bruce still loves you, Jason. That hasn't changed."

"Not yet. But it will. How can it not, when I'm no use to the Batman?"

Jason pauses, as if waiting for her to deny the truth of his words. She looks at him for a long time and he feels his temper rise to flaring again. He hates people looking at his face.

"Then you've got two options. Accept it, or change it."

"Change _what_? I can't go back out there, even if Tim hadn't replaced me. Doctors said that the physical therapy'd only get me up to walking with a cane at best. My vision's shot, and the headaches are murder."

"Do you remember what happened with Branneck?"

Now it's Jason's turn to flinch. "Yeah."

"Garzonas?"

"Jesus, Barbara, don't bring that -"

"It got you angry, didn't it? The law failed."

"What's your point?"

"Wouldn't it be great if we had someone working that side of things? Making sure that the people who got caught stayed caught, got what they deserve?"

"You want me to be a _lawyer_? I didn't even finish high school."

"So there's your first step." Barbara turns her chair and moves towards the door. "Otherwise, you might as well get on with it and end it once and for all. Live, or die. Your call."

-

Jason hates his crutches. He hates looking at his legs, all withered-looking and stumbling and awkward. He'd give up anything to be able to go for a run one last time.

He hates the aches and pains all through his body, the way it feels like there are still little cracks in all his bones for the cold to seep into. He hates how hard it is to get his eyes to focus on most things. He hates his headaches. He hates how his cheek and chin look like someone shot him with a gun full of gravel.

He's not sure if he actually wishes he were dead, though. Being dead might be even worse, especially considering that his soul's probably not as lily-white as it could be.

He uses the computer Bruce gave him when he got out of the hospital to look up GEDs and correspondence school and all the things he never thought he'd care about. After a while of squinting at the screen a headache knocks him around, as bad as the crowbar all over again. He's got pills for the pain, but they turn him into a zombie for hours. He grits his teeth, ignores the stabbing behind his eyes, and keeps looking at sites.

He hates to admit it, but it feels good to have something to do.

-

Jason visits his mom's grave a lot. The ground is springy, and sometimes he worries that he'll fall. That would be humiliating, even though the cemetery's near to deserted usually.

Mostly he goes there just to talk to himself, to work stuff out in his head. Sometimes he swears a blue streak. Usually he cries. One time be brought flowers, but didn't end up leaving them.

Physiotherapy sucks, and the CT scans are boring as hell, and Jason hates being anywhere where there are lots of people around. He knows they're looking at him and wondering what happened to his face. But he's got nothing better to do with his time, and appointments cost the same even if he skips them, so he might as well go.

Nobody at home makes any comment on the fact he's studying now. If they did, Jason would probably bite their heads off. He feels guilty for how badly he's acted towards them for so long, but doesn't say sorry. Better to just change and make up for it however he can.

Sometimes in the afternoons, when he's sitting at the shorter of the two long dining tables, Tim will come in with his own school books. They don't talk or anything, but it's nice to have the company. Maybe one day they'll swap Robin stories.

On the day Jason gets his high school equivalency diploma and doesn't tell anyone, Alfred makes pot roast for dinner. It's Jason's favourite, and there's an extra scoop of ice cream in his dessert. Sometimes Jason thinks that it's really Alfred who's the world's greatest detective.

He swallows his pride and asks for Barbara's help on his admissions essay for college. Jason figures he'll have to tell everyone else what he's up to sooner or later - if they haven't guessed already - but that doesn't mean he wants them to know yet.

"You should go to an optometrist," she tells him while proof-reading one of his drafts. "Glasses might help with your headaches."

They don't, but they do make it a bit easier to see clearly. Jason picks out really thick, black frames, which dominate his face and mean it's that extra half-second before people notice his scars. He's got a new cane, too, but still feels anxious with it. The crutches feel almost normal to use by now. He feels like a dork, but that's a step up from feeling like a freak.

And maybe he is a dork, anyway. A non-dork probably wouldn't call the student intake office every day to see if he's been accepted. Two of the receptionists know who he is as soon as he speaks, now.

People aren't treating him the same as they used to. Dick's started calling him 'squirt' and 'kid' again, and sometimes Jason retorts with 'old timer' or 'gramps' just to see if he can get away with it. Tim doesn't look like a rabbit in headlights whenever they're in the same room with nobody else around. Barbara's stopped looking like he's something a dog's left on the pavement, and always asks how things are going.

It's a really good day when he can tell her that he's been accepted for the course.

"I knew you could do it," she says. "Congratulations." Her voice isn't warm, exactly, but she sounds satisfied.

"I couldn't have, without you," he answers.

"What're families for?" replies Barbara.

-

College is hard. Really hard. Jason always knew he was kinda dumb, but this is even more complicated than he expected. How anybody jumps from school into this seems a mystery to him. But he likes going to the lectures, and walking around campus and seeing ordinary people doing ordinary stuff like play Frisbee and eat lunch under trees in the courtyard. Nobody there knows anything about where he's come from or who he used to be. He's just Jason, the quiet guy in glasses with the walking cane, the one with the scars.

With so much studying to do just to feel like he's keeping on top of the basics, Jason doesn't have time anymore to go down to the cave and watch Batman and Robin get suited up in the evenings. He hates to miss it, because it always gives him a sad little thrill to see them ready to go, but he's got his own stuff to do now. He'd probably forget to eat, if Alfred didn't make him sandwiches and coffee and leave them where he'll notice.

When he was Robin, he never bothered much with meditation or anything like that. It seemed a waste of time. It still seems like a waste of time, especially when there always seems to be some essay due that he's got no idea how to start, but it does help with the headaches a bit. He can't remember the last time he took a painkiller.

And then, just as Jason's getting used to the routine of classes and assignments and everything, it's exam time and then it's vacation. It's two years, nine months since Ethiopia. It feels like a century.

-

"I'm sure there are other places you could spend your birthday."

"I should have know you'd remember," Jason says, not particularly annoyed. He's eighteen years old. He doesn't know whether he feels it or not.

"Your contracts tutor called. Your exam results are back."

"Oh, great way to rain on a guy's day." Jason blows his nose and stands up, using the headstone for support. His cane's resting against it, and settles into his hand like a habit. "How bad did I screw up?"

"His exact words were, if I recall, 'I haven't seen such dedication to, and passion for, the law for many years. Since Harvey Dent'."

"You know he's just saying that 'cos of my scars." Jason rubs at his cheek and gives Bruce a small smile. "I did okay, huh?"

"You have every reason to be proud. I certainly am."

"Thanks. That's one semester down, anyway."

They stand together in the quiet. Jason stares at his mother's headstone until the name and dates blur into indecipherability.

"She sold me out, you know."

"Yes, I know," Bruce answers. Jason blinks rapidly to clear his vision and looks at Bruce, shocked.

"You do?"

"That first week, your concussion caused you to talk a lot. Most of it was too delirious to make sense of, but you were very worried about her. You said you didn't care, and that you forgave her."

"Wish I was still so sure about that."

Bruce rests his arm across Jason's shoulders. Jason can't remember the last time Bruce did that, but guesses that Jason was wearing elf shoes and hotpants at the time. It's nice to have it back.

"This is no place to spend a birthday," Jason says, even though it's pretty typical behaviour for the people he knows. "I just wanted to... say goodbye. I don't think I'll be coming back here anymore. I think that if you talk to ghosts too much, you turn into one yourself. You know what I mean? You forget about the people who're still alive."

Bruce doesn't answer. Jason leans on him as they walk away.

 **FIVE**

Rachael's mind is changing.

The pale pinks, the rose pattern on the bedspread and pillows, are darkening to the blood-flush of a warm lip. The light is brighter, whiter, no longer the golden glow of a night light. Objects are starting to cast clear shadows.

Rachael's gonna be fourteen in two months, and Jason's afraid that she'll want him gone soon. That she'll think that there are other teenage boys she'd rather have on the brain. He doesn't know what he'll do, if that happens.

Rach's mind is a self-contained thing, even as far as minds go. Dick's mind was a sprawling, frenetic, colourful mess, impossible to even guess the edges of. Tim's was compartments, a thousand thousand drawers with neat labels, just as large as Dick's but as unlike that brain as any can be while remaining so similar in some ways. Alfred's, an imperfect fractal, a pattern that always fell just shy of being an exact repetition.

But Rachael's is small, the size of a bedroom where other people contain whole cities and countries of space inside them. It's a neat, comfortable bedroom. There are things here Jason recognises from tv shows Rachael has watched, items she's pilfered from the houses and worlds in books. Harry Potter's glasses and Luke Skywalker's lightsaber are both lying amongst the makeup debris on the white-lacquered dressing table. There are two bookshelves, stuffed to what would be impossibly full anywhere but inside a head, containing all the things she knows and remembers about the world.

And there's the window, beside the bed, shade drawn down. Once, Jason snuck a peek outside. It's dark on the other side of the glass, black and full of things that might be moving, might be coming closer or watching or just lurching, gliding, stumbling around.

Sometimes he worries. Wonders what Rachael's head might look like if he hadn't spent so much time here. This little room is pretty, safe and comfortable, but maybe she'd be happier with more room to move, more space to shove random thoughts aside to look at later. Jason worries that one of those dark things outside the window is going to break in one day. He's worried that he's messed her up completely, even though he was just trying to do his best.

"Tard."

He turns. She's leaning against the door, which has no handle. "English class," she explains with a wave of her hand. "I'm dozing. And you're a tard."

"Why's that?"

"Sitting in here stressing about whether I'm going to go crazy one day because of how I designed my head."

"You've got a lot of creepy shit out there, Rach." He gestures to the window.

"Doesn't mean I'm _scared_ of it, Jay. I just don't want it in here."

"Really?" Jason wants to believe her.

"Yeah." Rachael nods. "Are you hanging around?"

"I was gonna go for a while. Couple of days, maybe."

Rachael makes a small hmm-ing sound. "All right."

A sharp voice cuts through the stillness of the room. "Rachael Willis, are you paying attention? Chapter four, girl."

"Looks like I gotta run," Rachael says. "Mr Byrne's out for blood."

"See ya."

"Bye." She's gone as quickly and quietly as she arrived. After a minute, Jason leaves too.

-

He winds up at Arkham, as usual, as evening gives way to night. Doing the rounds.

Once in a while, he wonders what might've happened if he'd lived. He can't imagine that he'd ever give the suit up by choice, not like Tim did.

Jason would say that this kind of life, this kind of work, is in his blood, but he doesn't actually have blood anymore, so it's not a good metaphor. And if Rachael feels a keen need to dress up in a costume and prowl the night, she hasn't let on to him about it. Maybe doing this kind of thing is something right deep down in Jason's soul.

Poison Ivy's looking a little peaky. Etiolated, that's called, when plants go pale out of the sun. Rachael did botany in science last term.

Pretty much everyone else is asleep already, and Jason takes a look into the minds which open up for him. It's never easy to predict who will open and who will push, but Jason's spent so much time here that he knows who's likely to let him in. Nobody's plotting anything in any kind of serious way. It's summer, and much too hot to bother with escape attempts or really evil plans.

The Joker's awake, but that doesn't mean as much as it does with most other people.

The first few times Jason ended up in the Joker's head, it was way too intense for him to deal with. He left straight away, flitting from brain to brain halfway across the country before he'd let himself pause and take stock. But before very long, Jason had decided that it was time to bite the bullet and take a look. The Joker couldn't do anything to him now, and it would be a bad idea to avoid checking up on someone like that out of personal hang-ups.

Even now, he feels a wave of squeamishness as he steps inside. There's another him in here, but it's a weak thing. A plaything, a toy made to bruise and break when the fancy takes its owner. Bones and rot, sometimes, still all dressed up in red and yellow and green.

Jason wasn't buried in that suit. His body was pretty putrid looking, by the time he got a funeral, but someone managed to get a grey jacket and slacks on it. Alfred, probably, since it was from him that Jason picked up the image of the clothes in the first place. But Alfred wouldn't let himself think about specifics, about the smell which oozed faintly even from underneath the flowers and the turned earth of the grave. Just blank greyness and pain inside his head, and Jason had begun to understand what a curse it was not to be able to talk to anybody awake. To find Rachael, a year later, was a blessing he still hasn't stopped being thankful for.

He could maybe talk to the Joker, if he wanted to. The line between dreaming and lucid is less a line and more a spectrum for that guy. But Jason's got nothing to say to him, and the Joker has his own Jason to chat with when he wants to.

Barbara's got her own Jason in her head, too, an angry reckless kid who they all should have tried harder with. She feels a little guilty and a little sad and sometimes there's a tiny green sliver of envy in there too. Jason's never bothered to find out if she can hear him over that other Jason. She's got no need of him.

Jason pokes at the thoughts of a dozing guard hard enough to make the guy wake up and look around and check the security monitors.

"Looks like everything's under control for the night," the guard says to himself, and five seconds later the first alarm goes off.

Jason swears. "Why'd you have to go and say that, you idiot?" he rails, moving quickly from head to head to try and find out what's going on. "Stupid, stupid, idiot."

It takes him a while, but eventually he pieces together enough to get a hold on what's going on. Lydia Templeton, the self-styled New Scarecrow, is out of her cell, and there's no sign of her anywhere on the premises. Jason moves back towards the city as quickly as he can, scanning for signs of trouble. He gets tangled up in a kid's dream about spider webs on the way, and its nearly midnight before he's back in Gotham proper.

No sign, no sign... there. A bank's call center, three stories, full of night-shift operators. The waves of panic send Jason reeling back. There's nobody in there open enough and strong enough for him to get inside.

Trusting his first instinct, he heads for Rachael. She's asleep, dreaming about an exam she's not ready for and some weird violin-things that are paintings or something.

"Rach!" Jason shouts through her dream, loud enough to wake her. She sits up in bed instantly, surprised.

"Jase?" she says, out loud. It's been years since he's tried to talk to her while she's awake, and even longer still since he was able to hear her speak inside her head while she's conscious. It seems unfair that having to talk aloud happened just as she was getting too old for the 'imaginary friend' excuse.

"Rach." It's so hard to make her hear while her brain's active. Jason feels like he's shouting against a crowd, or wind. "You have to listen. Put your shoes on and grab your backpack, and the first aid kit."

She doesn't bother to argue or hesitate. Jason's glad that she usually just falls asleep in her clothes.

"Okay, head for Blanc avenue. You know, where there's all the banks and stuff. Wave a car down and offer them that fifty that Louise makes you carry for emergencies, to get you there fast."

"Hitchhiking?" Rachael hisses in a whisper, unlocking the front door as quietly as she can. "You're gonna get me killed."

"I'll tell you if the guy's a creep. Here, wave down that blue one. Yeah."

Rachael offers the money. "And step on it!" she says, trying not to giggle. Jason wishes he had eyes, so he could roll them.

She's more serious by the time they get to the building. "Okay, what now?"

"Go to the security desk, it's just inside the front door. Press... press all the buttons, I guess. Get as much help here as you can."

Rachael nods. "Got it." She walks up to the sliding glass doors, which open up as if nothing's amiss. She takes three steps inside and stumbles, dropping her bag and falling to her knees.

"Oh, _shit_ , Jay, I feel like I just got hit by a tidal wave of caffeine or something."

"Ignore it!" he shouts. It's getting even noisier in her head and the walls of her imaginary bedroom are shaking. Things spill off the bookshelves and onto the floor. "Rach, come on! I need you to keep it together!"

"O�okay," she says, standing up again shakily. "My face feels cold."

"That's your fight or flight instinct. Come on, just walk forward. Only a few more steps... good girl. You're doing great."

"I'm not a little kid, Jase," she manages to gasp, her hands and legs shaking so badly that she has to grip the edge of the security desk. "Spare me the encouragement."

"Now hit the buttons." She does. Inside her head, the windowpanes are beginning to rattle violently. Jason ignores the sound. "Good. Okay, Rach, I need you to start looking for people who need first aid."

She nods, and walks as quickly as she can towards the fire stairs.

"No, you don't have to go up, that's just an automatic response to feeling like you're in danger," Jason tries to say, but she can't hear him. Everything in her mind is shaking and tilting; it's like being in the middle of an earthquake.

"My heart's going to explode," she says, leaning heavily on the handrail beside the stairs. "Oh, shit. I can't do this."

"Yes, you can!" Jason calls as loudly as he's able. Rachael draws in a shuddery breath and puts her foot on the next step.

The fire door opens onto a deserted hallway. One of the elevators keeps chiming over and over, and there's a noise of screaming from behind a door on the righthand side of the corridor.

"Keep it together," Rachael mutters to herself, stumbling forward and leaning on the door. It swings open under her touch, the lock not properly snibbed. There's a woman lying on her side right by the door, her hands buried in her hair and her knees curled up.

The lights inside Rachael's mind are flickering on and off, out of sync with the movement of the walls and floor. Jason tries to shout to her, but the wind and the crowd-noises are so bad he can't even hear himself. Her breathing is shallow and rapid.

"No pulse. What do I do?" Rachael pants. "Jason, what do I do?�. Jay?"

She looks around, eyes wide with panic. There's a shape outside the wide plate windows across the room, something moving out in the night. Her heart pounds and pounds, faster and faster. The woman's skin under her hand is clammy and cool.

"JASON!" she screams as the windows in and outside her head both shatter open. Everything goes dark.

-

Rachael wakes, sits up, scrubs at her eyes with the heels of her hands, and says "Are the people okay?"

Bruce Wayne looks away from the window. It looks like it's morning outside. "You're awake."

"You noticed that too? Weird," she answers tartly. "Are the people okay?"

"There were some deaths. Others are still catatonic. The most lucid among the survivors should be all right in time, with proper care and counselling."

"Huh." Rachael looks down at the bedspread. It's probably got a thread count higher than she can guess. "That's awful."

"It would have been worse, if you hadn't set off the alarms."

"Yeah, I'm a regular hero," she retorts, sarcasm razor-sharp. "I saved a bunch of people from a quick death so they can rot away as vegetables."

"Don't underestimate the good you did. There were security codes on the bank's intranet which had been breached. The damage could have been extremely extensive."

"Whatever." Rachael swings her legs over the side of the bed. Her shoes have been removed, and are beside her bag on the floor. "Can I have some food? I'm really hungry."

There are currant buns in the kitchen, and orange juice. She starts to feel a little more human when she's had a few bites. Less like she's a smear on a pavement in midday sunlight.

"I assume you background-checked me while I was out cold," she says to Bruce. He nods.

"What'd you get? I wanna know how good your sources are."

"Your name is Rachael Larissa Willis. You're thirteen, nearly fourteen. Your mother, Charlotte Willis, died when you were six years old. When you were ten, your father became engaged to Daniella Renoir, a moderately successful stockbroker. Shortly afterwards, you called the police and tipped them off that your father, Todd Willis, was in fact a man wanted in relation to several unsolved crimes more than a decade old. Tried under his real name, Willis Todd was convicted of burglary, extortion, and harming with intent to kill."

"Well, it was getting to be like a remake of _Bluebeard_. Daniella was a bitch, but I didn't want her to end up as Dead Wife Number Four." Seeing his expression, Rachael waves one hand back and forth and shakes her head. "Oh, no, I don't think he actually killed any of them. It was just weird. Keep going."

"There's not much else to tell. You live with Louise and Stephen Morgan, your foster parents, and have a C-plus average in school. You're on your regional high jump squad, and occasionally enrol in a gymnastics class for a few weeks at a time. Your library books are always overdue when you return them."

"You nearly know more about me than I do." She takes a big bite of the currant bun, chews, and swallows. "Want me to start listing the stuff I know about you?"

"I'd be more interested in finding out how you know it."

She sits at the table, and gestures for Bruce to sit opposite her. "How easily do you believe stuff? Wait, don't answer that. I know already. But I'm being totally on the level, I swear."

"All right."

Rachael wishes she could read his tones better. Maybe nobody really can unless they know him for ages.

"Okay, well, you've already got my records and my date of birth and stuff, so you know that I wasn't even two years old when Jason died."

Bruce's expression doesn't change at all. Rachael decides to look at the surface of the table instead. "And I was just over three when he started to talk to me. I don't know why he can make me hear him so much clearer that he can with other people. I hope it's not because we had the same dad, 'cos he was a deadbeat tard. But yeah. When I was little, I was never scared of _anything_ , because Jay was there."

"Other people can hear him?" Bruce's voice is quiet. Rachael looks up, and nods.

"Oh, yeah. Pretty much never when they're awake, but yeah. He had to talk to Tim and Dick, sometimes, when they were in trouble. Everybody always thinks it's an hallucination or whatever afterwards, 'cept me. He'd tell me all about it."

"I've never -" Bruce starts to say. Rachael's gaze drops back to the table.

"I know. He's tried. A lot. When I was a little kid, I used to pinch myself, so that I'd cry, because he was so sad. He couldn't cry, so I'd do it for him. He -" Rachael blinks rapidly and bites her lip. "He tried to explain it to me, when he'd worked it out. It's like... you've got a Jason in your head already. A really, really strong one. And so you can't hear anything but him.

"I used to hate you, because you couldn't hear him. Couldn't listen. Jay'd get so pissed at me whenever I said that. He really loves you a lot."

She stops talking. Bruce doesn't say anything. He's looking at her so intently that Rachael has to stop herself from shivering at the scrutiny.

"He thought that one of the big reasons you can't hear him is 'cos you think he killed that guy."

"Did he?"

"No." Rachael raises her head with a sharp jerk, glaring. "No, he didn't. I can't believe you'd need someone to tell you that."

"You weren't there. It was complicated."

Tilting her head to one side, she doesn't speak for almost a full minute. "I want to help. I've never thought about it before, but after last night I feel like I need to. That all this happened so I'd end up here."

"The adrenalin made you high. You're responding to that."

"So what? Doesn't mean I don't mean what I say. I had a dead body in my arms last night, okay? I want to help. You haven't had a Robin in, what? Two, three years?"

"We're not discussing this. I'll call your foster parents now, and have them pick you up." Bruce stands up. Rachael shakes her head.

"No wait. Don't. You'll break his heart, if he wakes up and you've sent us away."

"Wakes up?"

Rachael waves her hand in a dismissive gesture. "He was giving me instructions while I was awake. That's really hard for him to do. He's resting. Sorta. But in a couple of hours he'll be back. I'd... I'd like it if I was here when that happened."

Bruce doesn't answer right away. Rachael knows she's won, for the moment.

"All right."

"And we can talk about the Robin stuff later."

"The answer is _no_."

"Can I go back to that room where I was before, when I woke up? I'm tired."

Bruce nods, and she leaves him there at the table. The feeling that he's watching her as she walks away makes the skin on the back of her neck prickle.

The bed's big and soft, and she really is pretty tired. The pillows are fluffier than the ones she and Louise picked out at the sales last year, and make her feel like she's being cradled. Rachael lets herself drowse off. Time passes, but she's not sure how much.

"Rach?"

"Yeah, Jay?" she murmurs.

"You all right?"

"Yeah."

"Where are we?"

Rachael doesn't answer for a minute. Then, with a sleepy smile, she says,

"We're home."  
  
---


	2. Conversations Revisited

1.

 _You're not gonna start wearing a costume, are you? Because I'll kick your ass to the curb if you do._ Stephanie smirks, and pillows her head on her hands. They're lying on a picnic rug under the mottled shade of a tree's leafy branches. Nate's still playing with his frisbee.

 _Mommy! Jay! Watch me!_

Jason props himself up on his elbows. _Great shot, kiddo. Smooth wrist action._ He flops down beside Stephanie again. _No, I'm not going to wear a costume. But it's cool, isn't it? I'll be an official Bat informant._

 _Because it's not like you've been an unofficial one for years._ She sighs. _I dunno, Jase, after seeing my Dad play cops and robbers for so long... I think the costume guys all see it as a game, no matter what side they're on. I know you know it's not, but I don't want you ending up on the shit list of someone who does._

 _I'll be careful. Promise._ Jason holds one hand up. _Scout's honor._

 _You were never a scout,_ Stephanie says. _I bet you beat up scouts for their lunch money._

Jason laughs. _Yeah. But only the really annoying ones._

\---

2.

"It's like deja vu all over again. Once a sidekick, always a sidekick, huh?"

"Thanks for helping me out with this." She smiles and, quick as that, they're there. A treehouse full of ordinary cluttery junk.

The two boys sitting cross-legged around the 'Clue' boardgame on the ground freeze, their colorless eyes wide with fear.

"Charles, Edwin, it's time to go."

"Oh no."

"Please. Please don't."

They're both so young. It makes Jason want to punch the whole damn world. _Her_ look is, of course, a mixture of comforting and stern, sad and happy.

"Hey," Jason says to fill the quiet up. "You guys are detectives, huh?"

The one in the old-fashioned school uniform nods warily. "Yes..."

"Well, I worked with the world's greatest. Seriously. If he had business cards, that's what they'd say. Want me to teach you guys what I know?"

The dark-haired one, whose jeans and shirt are generic enough that Jason's got no idea how many decades it might be since the boy died, nods enthusiastically. Then, realizing, shrinks back.

"Scared? Hey, that's okay. I was too." Jason offers a hand out. "C'mon. Easy as falling off a log."

It's the boy in the old uniform who takes Jason's hand after a long moment. "Come on, Rowland," he says to the other. "Might as well get it over with."

\---

3.

Domino feels sluggish in the winter, but at least there are more overcast days. Even though he pretty much always stays in until nightfall, just knowing that it's sunny beyond the curtains is sometimes enough to put him in a crabby mood.

Which sucks, because once upon a time he loved days like that.

There are new emails from Greta and Kon in his inbox. They're both pretty regular in writing to him. Greta's letter is chatty and sweet; he can almost hear her voice as he reads the words. Kon's is shorter, just updates on how the Titans are and things like that.

Domino loves the messages, and can rarely help but grin when a new one pops up on his screen.

Even though he knows that, one day, they'll stop. It's just a natural part of life. People change. Friendships evolve. End.

One day, Greta and Kon will grow up. And Domino will still be here, inside. Waiting for dark.

\---

4.

"Nice car."

Tim follows the direction of Bernard's gaze, and raises his eyebrows. He's not surprised when Bernard follows him down the front stairs of the school.

"Give you a lift home?" Jason asks.

"Drake, you never told me you had a sugar daddy."

"Shut up, Bernard."

"Got a pimp cane and everything." Jason holds up his walking stick for display with a grin. Bernard laughs. Tim rolls his eyes. It's like 'when Beavis met Butthead'. "You gonna get in the car, Timbo?"

"Man. You know, if Tim's not putting out and you're looking for a replacement, I'm told that my mouth is not without prettiness."

"Shut up, Bernard." Tim climbs into Jason's car out of self-defence. "I'm in, okay? We can go now."

"See you round," Jason says to Bernard before driving off. Tim has a moment to appreciate the car - a Ferrari, because Jason's never been one to do anything by halves - before being addressed by Jason. "Didn't know if I was allowed to talk to you."

Tim sighs. "I don't know. You're probably not. Or, more to the point, I shouldn't be talking to you."

"That's what I figured. I also figured you could do with hearing the 'life doesn't stop once you hang up the cape' speech. It's not like there's all that many of us ex-Robins around, and I don't think Dick would be all that helpful in helping you appreciate the alternatives to the vigilante lifestyle."

"Has Bruce... is there a new one yet?" Tim asks. Jason sighs.

"Not yet. I think he's got some ideas. But do you really want to know that? Think about it?"

"No. I guess I don't."

"Thought as much. So, you got any ideas about what's in store for you now?"

"Honestly? Not a single one."

Jason laughs, and pats Tim on the shoulder. "Best way to start, far as I can see."

\---

5.

The thing is, Jason lived his whole life before he'd ever met Rachael, but she can't even remember a time when she didn't know Jason. Some days she has trouble remembering what things were like before Robin, and it's not like she's been in the suit all that long.

She feels like maybe all that should bother her more.

She's Becoming A Woman - at least, that's what Louise calls it. Rachael mostly calls it getting hips and boobs, but whatever. She kind of likes it. Sometimes, when the boys at school look at her, there's a little bit of hunger in their eyes. Rachael knows that some of the other girls think that making a boy look like that is power, but Rachael likes the power she can get from kicking a guy's teeth out or shooting a grapple into the stonework of a huge old building and then swinging up, up, up through the air better. But, still, it's cool to be getting curves. She feels all grown-up.

She never had that many school friends, and now she doesn't really have any. Afternoons are Cave time, and what lure could the mall or the movie theatre have compared to that?

"It's a lonely life," Timothy Drake told her the first time they met. Rachael likes him. He seems very thoughtful, and angry in ways she recognises, and she's known for a long time how much she can learn from the people who've gone through all this before her.

But Rachael can't even remember a time when she was on her own inside her head. In her world, lonely is just a word.


End file.
